Secrets in the Shadows
by AutumnDream26
Summary: Life and death are, often, separated by a very thin line. Samantha and Bucky are walking that tightrope with no safety net to catch them. Falling in love is even more complicated when it could equal losing your life.But that risky road,haunted by dark secrets,could be their only way towards the redemption they both seek.
1. Chapter 1

Cold rain was pouring from the blackened, night sky, soaking her to the bone as Samantha Grey ran as fast as her legs would carry her. A lightning bolt briefly illuminated her path, its light extinguishing just when the pounding of thunder made itself known, startling Samantha. Sighing, the woman gathered her bearings and picked up her pace, attempting to slow down her erratic heartbeat. Once upon a time she had relished the adrenaline that running at night in a deserted street gave, but now all she wanted was to reach her crappy apartment. Even after a few months, despite how crazy she knew it to be, she could not shake the feeling of someone following her.

One of _his_ parting gifts, she pondered.

Nights like this, with the wind hurling and hitting her across the face, were what reminded Samantha of her old life. Or better yet, the lie that she'd believed to be her life. For the better part of the last five years she had genuinely become a monster and it was all because of _him_. To think she still couldn't remember him or even say his name without shuddering was a testament to just how big of a number he'd played on her. Memories threatened to come to the surface and she couldn't afford that. Inhaling deeply, she struggled to regain her equilibrium, to rebuild the barriers that were threatening to collapse. A scream interrupted her efforts.

Had it been real? Or was her mind playing tricks, replaying old scenes?

Stopping, she listened closely, but silence reigned once again over the streets of New York. Just as she'd decided it had all been a figment of her imagination, another scream echoed, this time louder, more desperate.

It could be a trap, tried to reason her rational side, but as usual, the reckless part of her won the battle and Samantha found herself running in what she believed to be the direction of the cry for help. Any doubts about the location were shattered when the noise intensified as she grew nearer. She could distinguish angry voices and a woman meekly begging.

That wasn't something unheard of, especially at night in the Big Apple where street thugs awaited at every corner for the opportunity to pound on helpless prey. Well, tonight she'd teach them to pick on someone their own size.

Heart racing, she took a sharp left and reached her destination. In spite of the heavy rain blurring her vision, she could clearly assess the situation once surprise had worn off. At this hour and on this weather, somebody else had heard the cries for help.

That certain somebody was currently engaged in a fight against six other armed men. Instincts wanted to jump in, help him since it was hardly a fair fight, but the good Samaritan seemed to be holding his own pretty well. Scanning the area, Samantha's eyes landed on a young woman huddled after a dumpster, sobs wracking her small frame. Carefully avoiding the fight, for the moment at least, she made her way to the figure and crouched down at her level. The woman didn't respond or even lifted her gaze to look at her. Placing a hand on her shoulder, Samantha gently shook her.

"You have got to get out of here," she declared loudly as to not be muffled by the thunderstorm raging on. As expected, there was no answer, but the woman did lift her eyes slightly and was now looking at her, with an expression of sheer terror. An expression Samantha knew all too well. One that she'd seen reflected in the mirror countless times before. Shaking it off, she continued. "When I tell you, you run. You run as fast as you can and you don't look back, no matter what you hear."

If not for the little nod, Samantha would have thought the woman hadn't heard her. Turning her attention back to the fight, she focused on finding the right window of opportunity for the woman to slip away unnoticed.

One of the assailants was laying against the wall, unconscious, having seemingly bashed his head on the cement while another one was nursing what appeared to be a stab wound, hands tightly grasping his side attempting to stem the blood flow.

The left four guys, all of which were gathered in a circle around a tall man clad in black, a baseball hat drawn over his face. The good Samaritan, as she'd baptized him in her head, was panting, but did not appear to be otherwise injured. There was something strange about his left arm and the way he moved it, but Samantha could not afford to dwell on it now. With the smallest of motions, he turned his head a bit and looked at them out of the corner of his eyes. Then, unexpectedly, he nodded. It took her but a moment to figure out that he was signaling for them to make their escape. He must have heard her, she deduced.

Without further warning, he engaged the other men in hand to hand battle. If that wasn't a distraction, Samantha didn't know what was.

"Now!" she screamed at the poor terrified girl who couldn't have been more than 21 years old. Out of the blue, spirit seemed to have returned to the nearly catatonic girl who took off at a speed no one would have guessed she possessed. Only after Samantha had made sure she'd put enough distance between them, did she turn to look at the fight. Knives were flying and the good Samaritan was dodging hits that were coming from all directions. He possessed unnatural speed, but that did not mean that he was invincible. Steadying herself, she prepared for the first real battle in over five months and took a step forward, aiming a strong punch at the nearest attacker.

Her intervention must have startled her ally who stopped for a second to look at her. "What the hell are you doing? Get out of here!" he yelled out, his deep voice dripping with barely controlled rage. One of the men took advantage of his carelessness and plunged his knife deeply into the good Samaritan's right shoulder.

Samantha wanted to ask him if he was alright, but her own assaulter reminded her of her first fighting lesson _: "Never take your eyes off your opponent."_ _He_ had taught her that and, like everything else he'd said, Samantha had never forgotten. That was how she barely missed a well-aimed kick to her temple and managed to counter with a strong punch to the jaw followed by a kick to the groin. The man was going down and one last elbow to the neck knocked him out.

Meanwhile, the good Samaritan- God, she really needed to ask for his name once this was over –had incapacitated two of his three opponents, who were quite literally bleeding on the ground. The sound of metal grinding on metal droned out the rain which had mellowed down significantly during the fight. It had been the sound of a knife meeting the man's left hand.

That's when it hit her. He had a prosthetic arm. Somehow, that seemed to ring a bell, bring back some kind of memory, but it slipped though when the sound of a heavy punch drew her back to reality. The last attacker was crawling away from the good Samaritan. Sometime during the fight, his baseball hat had fallen off and Samantha finally found herself face to face with the man. He had shoulder length brown hair that framed his face, giving him a mysterious look, but what really captivated her were his eyes. Sky blue eyes that were studying her and she felt like he could see through every single one of her defenses. His icy stare, no, glare was more appropriate, made her flinch, but she couldn't look away.

"I told you to leave," he finally spoke and came closer to her.

Resisting the urge to take a step back, Samantha stared straight at him. "You needed help and I provided you with it."

"I was handling myself just fine before you came here, girl."

Was this man for real? Sure, he did most of the hard work, but she helped him as well. He was the one who got hurt, after all, and not her. Before she could point that out, a voice of reason she'd forgotten she had, whispered that she was the reason why he'd gotten distracted. Perhaps he was right. A quick glance at his shoulder showcased a hole that was still bleeding quite profoundly in his black jacket.

Seeming bored by her lack of reply, he turned away, masking a grunt of pain and started to walk away. By the time she got her bearings, he was nearly at the end of the alley. The rain had stopped completely and people were bound to pass by even at this hour. She had to get out of here as well before the police came. If she got mixed with the cops, _they_ were guaranteed to find out her whereabouts. That would result in her death.

Still, instead of going in the opposite direction and copy the good Samaritan's actions, she found herself following him. There was something eerily familiar about him and even though she would never admit it aloud, she felt somewhat guilty about his injury. She had been the reason why he had lost his focus. And even more, she could not forget the penetrating, haunted look he had given her before covering up all of his emotions behind a wall of immense fury.

"Wait!" she screamed after him. He didn't turn, but he did momentarily stop. "You're hurt. You need to go to a hospital. I can take you," she offered before her brain could connect with her mouth. What in the world was she doing? This man screamed danger. And she'd sworn she'd steer clear of men like that after _him_.

"I can take care of myself," he responded and proceeded in walking away from her.

There was nothing else she could say to him and she didn't want to push her luck. Even with all of her previous training, she was convinced she was no match for him. And she didn't want to anger him. He seemed on edge constantly, with barely restrained anger behind his every move. One last sweep of the area, to ensure that nothing had been left behind that would link her to any of this, made her see his black baseball hat thrown on the ground. He'd been in such a hurry to get away that he'd forgotten about it. Bending down, she lifted it up. It was a common hat. One found in every single street shop around here and it didn't tell her anything more about the riveting stranger.

Sirens approaching notified her that someone had probably called the cops and that she had to get out of there. Running out of the alley, she did one last sweep of the perimeter, searching for him, but came up empty. Not even a trace of his presence but for the hat clutched in her hand.

A few blocks down, she slowed down her pace, but could not help but check her surroundings. The man had spiked her curiosity. What was so familiar about him?

And to think she hadn't even gotten his name. "I guess you're still the good Samaritan," she said looking at the hat and glancing around her one last time before entering her apartment.

* * *

 _A/N Hello, everyone! This is my first attempt at writing a Marvel Universel fanfiction so I'm quite nervous about getting it right. I have seen all of the Captain America movies, including Civil War, and I have fallen in love with Bucky and could not get this plot out of my head. Please, let me know if you liked it, so far, at least._


	2. Chapter 2

"Excuse me, Miss?" A hand touched Samantha's shoulder, nudging her back into awareness. A kind looking old man was staring at her, clutching a storybook in his hands. "Are you alright?" he asked gently.

"Yeah," she shook her head. "Sorry, you caught me daydreaming for a bit. What can I do for you?"

"I'd like to buy this," he put the storybook, Beauty and the Beast, she noted, on the counter.

"Grandchildren?" Samantha found herself asking while scanning the book.

Even before he answered the woman knew what he would say. Nobody could fake the way their eyes softened or the bright smile brought on just by picturing a loved family member. It reminded Samantha of her own grandfather, the person whom she'd loved most in the world and the one who used to look like that at the mention of her name.

"Granddaughter. Turns 6 tomorrow," he self-consciously looked down at the book. "I know it's not much and it can't compare to the other presents she'll be getting tomorrow, but it's all I can afford."

"She'll love it," she reassured, swallowing the lump in her throat. Old people always made her emotional because they hit too close to home. They brought back images of her youth, of growing up without a care and receiving so much love from her grandparents. "Do you want it gift wrapped? I'm sure I had some Disney wrapping paper around here." The man nodded and she began her quest to find said item. Ten minutes later, the book was safely bundled up inside Rapunzel themed wrapping paper and her third and probably last customer of the day had left the bookshop after thanking her for what must have been the 10th time.

After 8 o'clock, the time for closing, had passed Samantha locked everything behind her and started to head home. Suddenly, she remembered that her fridge lacked even the most remote trace of food, but the thought of cooking, an art she'd never mastered, brought on a headache. So, she settled on some take-out. Chinese was her pick because she knew a restaurant that served awesome dishes which were good value for money. Admittedly, it was pretty far, but her current budget did not allow her to be picky.

"At least there's not a freaking thunderstorm raging on tonight," she mumbled to herself. Memories of last night invaded her as they had all day. Memories of the good Samaritan. The man that had seemed so familiar to her, like she'd seen him before, but that was impossible. Most of all, she wondered if he was alright. After all, he had been stabbed right before her eyes and partially because of her.

By the time she managed to kick him out of her mind, a steaming bag of dumplings and Sweet and Sour Pork was safely tucked in her hands as she paid for her food. No sooner than handing over the money did she spot a familiar figure rushing down the street. "You have got to be kidding me," she groaned drawing the attention of everyone near her.

The windows were a bit fogged and her view was halfway blocked by a man desperately trying to charm an insanely bored looking woman. Yet there was no mistaking that figure. The good Samaritan had just passed by Lan Sheng's just as she was inside. Once again, ignoring every reasonable cell in her body, she ran out of the establishment, desperately scanning her surroundings to catch a glimpse of the man. Right as she was about to lose hope, a tall figure, moving stealthily in the crowd came into her line of sight. Dressed in black, he seemed innocuous enough to the untrained eye. Too bad Samantha was exactly the opposite of that.

Maintaining a brisk walk, the woman closed the distance between them, ensuring not to get too close though. Alarm bells started going off when he went into streets with less and less people. "He can't know you're following him," she reassured herself, but fell even more behind. By the moment she knew something was wrong, it was already too late. The good Samaritan had led her to a dead end. A brick wall and a dumpster were all that awaited her, but glancing around showed no sign of the man.

Making her peace with him escaping her grasp again, she prepared to turn around and finally go home. The food had probably gone cold throughout her little adventure. Without other warning but a blur of black shadows, something extremely strong pushed her into the wall behind, knocking the air out of her lungs. Tight fingers curled around her neck blocking all air supply. Immediately she found herself facing cold, steel blue eyes.

 _The good Samaritan._

Well, not that _good_ at the moment. Liquid brown eyes flickered down to where the man's metal arm was pressing her against the wall with such force that Samantha was sure she was going to bruise later on. If she made it out alive, that is. Which, judging by his murderous look was less than probable.

"Why are you following me?" he growled. Instead of giving her an opportunity to answer he continued. "Who sent you?"

Trying to form words when he was holding her neck in a feral grip, successfully cutting off her oxygen was impossible. He must have come to the same conclusion because he loosened his fingers a bit. "N-no-nobody," she managed to utter desperately shaking her head in denial.

The evil Samaritan, as he'd now become, didn't seem to believe it. "Did _they_ send you?"

Who was he talking about? Was he suffering from some sort of PTSD or something? Was he a war vet who'd lost his hand in war? After having seen a documentary recently about homeless veterans in the USA, that was the only possibility that made sense. Unfortunately, he was the one asking the questions. With my luck he's probably a paranoid schizophrenic, she drawled in her mind, her inner-self mocking her stupidity.

Squeezing her neck even further, Samantha feared he would break it. Self- preservation instincts finally kicked in and she clasped both of her hands around his right hand. "I don't k-know what you're ta-talking about," she got out while gasping for air. Her strength was no match for the angry man who seemed to have condemned her. He added more pressure to his hold on her neck and black spots were beginning to cover the corners of her vision. "Pl-please," was all she could add.

Closing her eyes, she stopped fighting and accepted her faith. She deserved it after all. Her only regret was that she hadn't gotten to take _him_ out with her as well. In that exact moment, the fingers literally crushing her neck retracted. And so did the hand plastering her to the hard bricks.

With a gasp, her knees buckled under her weight, her hands massaging her neck before a coughing fit wracked her body. After having somewhat regained her breath, Samantha was compelled to look at the man. He was still suspiciously examining her, but the glare was gone, for now.

"Nobody sent me," she rasped out from her sore throat the moment she knew her voice wouldn't falter.

"Then why were you following me?" his anger was subdued, but an undertone of danger still seeped out of him.

"I…" she bit her lip and, using the wall to steady herself, lifted herself up. "I just wanted to see if you were alright." It sounded stupid even to her own ears. There was little, if any, chance that he would believe her, but once started, her mouth had to ramble on the continuation of her weak excuse. "I saw you get stabbed last night and I had to make sure you weren't hurt too badly."

"You wanted to see if I was alright," he repeated in disbelief, narrowed sky blue slits piercing her.

Samantha nodded. His rage was starting to gloss over and fear that she'd say something wrong prevented her from uttering another word. Settling on rubbing soothing circles on her neck and chest, she studied him silently. A wide range of emotions flickered on his face starting with incredulity, sorrow, contempt and- was that remorse?

Minutes trickled by and he didn't say another word. It made her nervous and to add to it, pain radiated from her chest all the way up. A migraine had already formed and it was now throbbing behind her temples."Can I go now?" her voice meekly asked surprising them both.

Blinking, he studied her, his eyes stopping on her crimson, pulsating neck, before nodding his response. Unsteady, trembling feet took her halfway to the exit, where the New York bustle and night crowd awaited before they stopped. Turning to look at him, she proceeded to do her second idiotic action of the night. After tonight she really had to evaluate her sanity, she concluded before focusing on his unmoving eyes.

"Are you alright?" she found herself asking to both of their surprise.

"You should go."

The way he squared his shoulders, stiffening his back, the tight line his lips formed as he clenched his jaw, everything screamed for her to leave, but Samantha's mouth appeared to have another opinion. "You could at least tell me your name, you know? After nearly choking me to death and all that."

Seconds went by and he must have deemed her incorrect or simply unworthy of such knowledge because his lips remained sealed. Sighing, Samantha forced her aching body to move. To get as far away as possible from the man who had almost killed her and whose name she'd still asked for. She was almost back to civilization when a whisper stopped her in her tracks.

"James," it stumbled out of his lips hesitantly. She should have continued to walk away, but if she'd come this far, at least she could see when her temporary insanity ended. If it ever did, doubts were creeping in.

"I'm Samantha ," she whispered just as uncertainly, but daring a quick once-over now that his murderous alter ego had momentarily taken a break.

He was wearing the same clothes from last night, fact made obvious by the gaping hole in his black shirt. A bandage could be seen through the tear in fabric and, sure enough, a patch of red lied in the middle. Despite his overwhelming strength, his garments looked baggy as if he'd lost weight recently. Gaunt cheekbones and black circles around his eyes suggested he wasn't getting enough sleep, nightmares probably the cause judging by the troubled look in his orbs. Damn her good nature to hell, but she couldn't leave him alone on the streets. Not when he was clearly unwell. Even if he'd tried to kill her mere minutes ago. He couldn't be a bad person or he wouldn't have stepped in to help that woman last night, right?

"Do you want to come with me? Have a meal, maybe? You look like you could use some food," _and a friend_ , she added in her head. In that moment she realized, after checking the ground that her precious Chinese food was spilled all over the pavement. "I mean you did ruin my dinner, but I'm sure we could find something on the way to my house."

James' eyes widened upon hearing her offer. Samantha appeared to have left him speechless. All he accomplished was to shake his head in denial. For some unknown reason, the woman felt genuinely disappointed at his refusal, but there was nothing she could do. "As you wish," with that, she finally turned her back and abandoned the alley.

She was so lost in her thoughts about James, the man who had the power the squeeze the life out of her, but who'd chosen not to. The man who had appeared to be so broken for a split second, before donning his mask of indifference. The man that she still felt like she'd met before, but that was impossible, right? The man who, whether she wished to admit it or not, she wanted to see again.

Samantha never noticed the figures trailing behind her.

* * *

 _A/N Hello, everyone! Thank you very much to all of you who took the time to add this story to your favourite/ following list. It means a lot to me that you guys seemed to have liked it. I really hope you enjoyed this chapter._


	3. Chapter 3

_Samantha._

James Buchanan Barnes remained glued to the spot, looking after the woman who'd just left. After her disappearance, his focus moved onto the crushed dumplings spilled all over the pavement. Samantha had nearly become like them. A fit of rage had made him lose grip on reality. The Winter Soldier had come out to play and, like always, it hadn't been pretty.

So far gone had he been that he would have killed her without hesitation. Somehow, the way she had pleaded had stayed his hand and the concern embedded deep into her chocolate orbs reminded him of pained blue eyes. His best friend, Steve Rodgers, the one who had refused to fight the Winter Soldier because he still saw Bucky, his old companion, in there, regardless of what he'd done to him. Pulling him out of the river had started the drowning flood of memories.

His youth.

Protecting Steve back when he was a scrawny, defenseless young man who would not hesitate to get into fights to defend his beliefs.

The war and Captain America.

Falling from that train.

HYDRA and last but certainly not least, the assassinations he had carried out ruthlessly. Countless people murdered without hesitation because he had been ordered to. He remembered each and every one of their faces. They were the real reason why he'd steered clear of Steve. He was dangerous to anyone who dared come near him. Being on the run, constantly looking over his shoulder wasn't even the worst part. No, what killed him was the fact that as much as he loathed admitting it, whatever they'd done to his mind was still there. Temporarily losing control was always a possibility, making him a loose cannon and Steve, along with innocents, didn't deserve to fall victims to him anymore. This young woman tonight was a clear example of his lack of restraint.

So why was his gut screaming to go after Samantha? More importantly, why was he listening?

Divinity provided an answer soon enough. Three men, guns bulging out of their suits, were following her. Back in the alley, the other night, he'd noticed some combat training as she took out that man. Someone like that, with even remote military background should have noticed a tail, but the woman seemed so distracted that she wouldn't spot an entire army behind her.

This didn't make any sense. Why was she being followed? Did they want to rob her? Because he was sure men like these could find better marks. They didn't look like ordinary street thugs, instead resembling professional hit men or…HYDRA agents? They looked an awful lot like the last batch of poor bastards the criminal organization had sent to capture him. So why would they be after Samantha?

That's when it hit him like a ton of bricks: it was his fault. They must have been after him and the second he let her go, Samantha had become a target. That made them his responsibility. He would deal with this inconvenience before any harm could befall Samantha. More harm, anyway, since he'd hurt her enough.

The first opportunity to strike arose when, the woman who'd clearly learned nothing these last nights, ventured into a darkened street, presumably a shortcut. Approaching the closest enemy, Bucky silently snapped his neck, laying the body on the ground quietly. The other two, occupied with Samantha who had just taken a sharp turn to the left, remained oblivious to their fallen teammate. Increasing his pace in an attempt to stop them from continuing their pursuit, he accidentally made his position known. The HYDRA agents stopped, turned around, studying him from head to toe before one of them, a tall, muscular, blonde man with glistening pools of obsidian ginned.

"Look what we have here," he chanted. "The rumors really were true. You have taken up rescuing pitiful damsels in distress," the golden haired man mocked. "Pathetic."

"Sasha, what about the woman?" interrupted the other the slew of insults, motioning his head in Samantha's direction, choosing to ignore Bucky for the moment.

"Forget the woman, Brian" the blonde one snapped. "This is a much bigger target. We'll be heroes if we bring in the Winter Soldier," he stopped to remark. "However low he's fallen."

Impassively, Bucky observed the exchange not deeming the taunts worthy of a response. Brian, as he'd been called by his superior, gulped. Stories about the Winter Soldier must have reached his ears, Bucky smirked. "What's the matter, Brian? Do I scare you?" he couldn't help throwing back.

Brian's eyes widened in fear as he unconsciously took a step back. Unfortunately, Sasha did not share his fears because only seconds afterwards, Bucky found himself engaged in an intense hand to hand battle.

The HYDRA operative expertly dodged what would have been a right hand knock-out punch and responded by kicking Bucky straight in the ribs, sending him reeling a few meters back. Gasping for breath, Bucky quickly straightened himself. It had been a long time since he'd faced a real challenge. Last night he'd been largely outnumbered, but the training these two had cast huge shadows over those poor 6 bandits. Surprisingly, though, the other man's eagerness to prove himself turned out to be his own downfall. Acting just like a rookie, without stopping to think or form a strategy, he confidently came at the Winter Soldier. Bucky evaded a jab to the temple and blocked a punch to the jaw, capturing the man's hand in his metal one. Twisting it behind his back until he registered a sickening crack, he rapidly delivered a series of well-aimed strokes to the wailing man's torso. Sasha was reduced to a motionless pile of flesh in a matter of seconds by the savage assault.

Brian, momentarily forgotten, seemed to have snapped out of his stupor and pulled out a gun, aiming and squeezing the trigger. The sound of the weapon going off drew the Winter Soldier's attention, but by then it was too late. All he could do was stand there, shocked as a bullet pierced his lower left side. Pain exploded through his abdomen and his knees nearly buckled. By instinct, his prosthetic hand reached for the wound, covering it. Blood was gushing out, crimson glistening upon silver illuminated by the pale moon which had emerged from behind a cluster of clouds.

Concentrating all of his rage on the HYDRA men, Bucky or more accurately, the Winter Soldier, stepped on Sasha's neck, vertebrae crunching under his strength. Brian, terrified at the display of sheer cruelty, shot bullet after bullet in desperate attempts to stop his advance. Metal clashed with metal, as he deflected them all using his right arm as a shield. No sooner had he reached Brian that he disarmed him, breaking his wrist in the process. One last bang echoed in the street and the agent crumbled in an undignified, lifeless heap on the cold concrete, a bleeding hole straight through his forehead.

All enemies neutralized, Bucky could finally focus on his own aching body. Judging by the position of the wound, it had missed all vital organs and closer inspection revealed that it had gone clean through muscle. Still, the blood flow hadn't stemmed at all, his black shirt now soaked with rich, thick liquid. It would need stitches, a lot of them. To top that off, the cut across his shoulder had opened up during the strenuous activities of the night.

First things first, though. Even if the agents hadn't managed to alert headquarters, which was likely, taking into account the lack of backup, people would pass by eventually. It was New York, after all. He had to get out of here and find a safe place to lay low. The abandoned warehouse he'd been staying at wasn't an option anymore. Training had taught him to assume that your position had been compromised once enemies came knocking on your back door.

Wincing, he pressed down on his side, somewhat reducing the hemorrhage, gritted his teeth and began to walk away. Experiments done on him ensured his body could endure more than most, but it didn't make him immune to all hurt or invincible. Proof to that stood the nausea and lightheadedness induced by blood loss that were currently plaguing him.

Those were the things Bucky blamed for his choice to follow in Samantha's footsteps. It's not like he had any chance of seeing her anyway, he argued. During his fight, she must have already reached her house. Going straight ahead, he let instinct guide his steps. People stared suspiciously at him, but, true New Yorkers, bless their hearts, did not stop him.

Imagine his surprise when, in line for a cheap fast food restaurant, he spotted Samantha. Her long chestnut hair stopped right at the middle of her back, warm cinnamon eyes concentrating on the man behind the counter, flashing him a kind smile. She took the offered plastic bag, grinned at the vendor for the second time, telling him something that prompted a smile to break out on his face as well.

Bucky continued to watch her and, ensuring that his presence would not be noted, continued to pursue her.

* * *

The smell of a hamburger and French fries had Samantha's famished stomach growling. Greasy food had always made her feel better and, following tonight, all the hamburgers in the world would be needed in order to erase the image of James slowly squeezing the life out of her. In spite of that, she couldn't shake off the last look he'd given her- so vulnerable and almost apologetic. As if he'd wanted to go with her, but chose not to at the last moment.

The alarm of a car went off, scaring her senseless. Since walking away, two loud bangs had managed to alert her. They had resembled gunshots and immediately made her think of the good Samaritan. Months ago, they would have sent her rushing to investigate, but now, especially after another close encounter with death, the possibility of _him_ being there paralyzed her.

Making a wise decision, for once in her life, she'd ignored them, convinced herself that local police could handle it and stopped in queue for a fast food joint. Fortunately, her tall building came into view without further unpleasant incidents. It wasn't fancy, nor did it accommodate millionaires, but it was clean and her neighbors minded their own business. In fact, she was nearly sure that she could be a deranged serial killer and they wouldn't know or care as long as it didn't directly affect them. Most of all, it a place to call home and that notion had grown on her greatly recently.

Sighing, Samantha observed that the front door was opened wide, the lock busted for nearly a week already. Apparently, she was the only tenant who cared about safety and the administrator couldn't give a rat's ass about the weird woman's concerns, simply waving them off.

Out of the blue, goose bumps broke out as a chill coursed through her body. She felt like somebody was watching her. Sweeping the perimeter, nothing stood out, but an unnatural coldness had taken over her. Accepting that she must have appeared even more of a freak than before to anyone who saw her, Samantha ran the five flights of stairs as quickly as possible, unlocked her door and, once inside, quickly bolted it.

Checking that nothing was out of place, she managed to get her racing heart to calm down. Unwrapping the food, she grabbed a tumbler and the bottle of inexpensive whiskey, generously pouring herself half a glass. Alcohol helped keep _him_ at bay during the night. In this equation, self-medicating was the lesser of two evils. The food was just about to be devoured when something crashed outside her apartment. The noise was followed by a silent curse. Habit prompted her to reach for the gun usually tucked under her belt. That was just one of the things she hadn't been able to shake off even after 'quitting' her last job. Normally, she would have chalked it up to her neighbor, Mrs. Perry, dropping her grocery bag again, but she was too wound up and it was way too late for the 70 year old woman to be roaming the corridors.

Nothing audible followed, but once her interest was spiked there was no turning back. Particularly, this strange trait of hers was what had kept her alive these past months. Inhaling deeply, within seconds Samantha found her trembling hand resting on the knob and, like ripping off a band aid, slammed the door wide open.

At first, nothing out of the ordinary jumped at her, but one glance at her threshold revealed another mystery.

Scattered drops of blood decorated her faded, plush mat.

Further investigating showed similar specks of hazardous copper liquid heading to the staircase. Throwing all caution to hell, for the millionth time, she ran down to follow the lead. Sure enough, a figure was grasping the railing, slowly working its way down.

"Hey, you," Samantha screamed from the top. "Stop right there!"

At her order, the silhouette, a man judging from its muscular build halted its sloppy movements, but did nothing else.

"Who are you? What were you doing outside my apartment?" she continued to ask, making her way toward him.

In the dimly lit corridor it had been impossible for Samantha to make out more than a blur of limbs, but as she continued to approach, she started to make out more and more. Black leather jacket paired with similarly colored, worn-out jeans and combat boots seemed eerily familiar. As did the shoulder length mahogany mass of matted hair.

What did the trick though was the glint of metal from the hand clasping the wooden balustrade. She knew where she'd seen the man before.

"The good Samaritan?" incredulously escaped her lips before she could stop.

"What did you just call me?" the man abruptly turned to watch her, his stormy ocean eyes confirming her suspicious.

Gasping, she took a step back, stumbling on one of the stairs. Had it not been for her quick, exercised reflexes of reaching out and grabbing the bannister, she would have landed straight on the ground. Shock and perhaps a remainder of previous fear were to blame for that.

Realizing that she was opening and closing her mouth like a fish on dry soil desperate for a gulp of air, she sewed shut her lips, taking in the man before her. For starters, he didn't seem aggressive, all traces of the murderous man from the alley long gone. His jaw was clenched shut, lines marred his forehead, eyes creased in concentration. He looked in pain.

Only after her eyes drifted lower did she notice how he was grabbing at his left side from where blood seemed to seep even through the barrier his shaky fingers tried to keep. "You're hurt," she whispered taking a small step towards him. He didn't protest or move back so, taking it as a positive sign, she continued until just 2 steps separated him. This way, the height difference was nullified and Samantha wouldn't be forced to look up at him.

Having come closer to him, the young woman could see the sickly paleness of his skin, the sweat glistening all over his forehead and the small pool of blood formed directly underneath him. "I can help you," her mouth declared before long. "If you'll let me," followed the softer continuation.

"I…" he shook his head seemingly debating himself. "It would be best if I stayed away from you." James turned to leave, his hand momentarily abandoning the wooden pole supporting him. Dizziness must have kicked in because with a pant, he drew his left hand to his forehead, eyes closing. He would have tumbled down the stairs had it not been for Samantha rushing to steady him, placing his hand over her neck and securely wrapping a hand around his waist.

"I can choose what's best for me," she started to pull him towards her home. "Besides, I can take care of myself."

Bucky grunted. "Not against someone like me or the people after me," he mumbled but all fight seemed to have left his body since he was relying mostly on her support to even stand upright. Getting to her home was harder than expected. The injured man tried to help her, but blood loss had weakened him significantly and it seemed to cost every inch of strength to just stay conscious and upright.

Samantha heaved a sigh of relief when they finally made it past the hallway and entered her home. Leading him to the couch, she gently helped lower him to the old, orange cushion. "Stay here, I'm going to search for something to patch you up."

Rushing to her bathroom, the woman raided her medicine cabinet finding almost everything needed to stitch his wound. Almost because there weren't any painkillers save from some ibuprofen in her entire house. Those weren't going to cut it. Not with such a severe injury. But they would have to do because there was no way she was going to obtain anything better soon. Making her way back to the living room, her eyes stopped on the bottle of liquor still on her kitchen table. Grabbing that as well, she headed back to her patient.

James seemed to have settled into the couch, his position less stiff, prosthetic hand keeping pressure on the wound. Unceremoniously dropping onto the coffee table right in front of him, Samantha settled the healing supplies within reach.

"Let me see it," her fingertips barely touched the cold metal of his hand. Blue questioning slits opened to look at her before he tiredly sighed and obeyed.

Her mouth dropped open. It was clearly a gunshot wound. He had been relatively fine when she'd left. At least he could stand on his own two feet then. What had he gotten himself into this time, the woman wanted to know. "This…"the words slurred in her mouth. "A doctor needs to see this." Sure, once upon a time she had stitched up smaller lesions, when she had needed them and did not want to see the doctor. But this, this was way out of her league.

An unnerving sharpness returned in his eyes at the mention of a doctor. "No doctor. It's a through and through that just needs stitches."

Just stitches? Her inner self angrily asked. This could get infected if not treated properly and she was sure the definition of suitable medical care did not involve sewing someone's abdomen in your living room. She was just about to strongly suggest he reconsider the advantages of professional attention, but one glance at the harness of his features made up her mind for it. He would leave before she could call an ambulance and he was in no state to go anywhere.

"Here," she handed him three ibuprofens which he firmly refused. Her second and third attempts to convince him that painkillers were a good choice were met with the same answer. So, Samantha changed strategies, offering him the whiskey bottle. He seemed about to turn down the alcohol as well when his eyes shifted and he grabbed the offering, taking a few large gulps.

"Okay," the woman slurped down two swigs of the amber elixir. "Let's get started," her voice sounded a lot more confident than she felt at the moment. "This is going to hurt." She warned before pouring down disinfectant all over the wound, effectively cleansing it, but Bucky's only reaction was to wince slightly, closing his eyes.

Now clear of the dark, hardened liquid, the wound laid exposed before her. Preparing the needle and thread, Samantha tried to will her quivering fingers to relax, but to no avail. Her heart was pounding in anticipation because she didn't want to mess this up and have him bleed to death. Biting her lip, she considered whether it was too late to send him to a hospital. "Samantha," his voice quelled her fears bringing her back to the present. He'd remembered her name, her stomach did an unexplainable somersault at that thought and the way in which he'd said it, so deep and gruff. "You can do this. Stop worrying."

That seemed to do the trick because her hands stilled and with the utmost care she started to close the wound. Once she was finished she stopped to admire her handiwork which, surprisingly, wasn't half bad and helped turn him over slightly to handle the exit wound.

The needle and thread kept making their way through flesh, knitting it back together and not once did James complain or request a break. Instead he soldiered through pain that would have rendered most unconscious. The only give away were his sea blue eyes which remained tightly sealed.

"I'm done," finally proclaimed Samantha after having safely wrapped up the wounds with gauze. Just as she was collecting the medical supplies her eyes ventured to his shoulder. To the stab wound, that was her fault and that appeared to be still bleeding, judging by the soaked bandage on top. Gentle, lithe hands reached for it only to be brusquely halted by a powerful metal one. The grip was strong enough to make her wince, but Samantha was sure that James wasn't even using a quarter of his full power.

"I just wanted to see if that wound," her head pointed towards his shoulder," needed any stitches as well."

Surprise was etched on his face for a moment, but he quickly covered it up and removed the vice around her fingers, giving silent permission for her to continue. As suspected, the slash was deep, the jagged edges of the dagger leaving striations all over the flesh. Samantha quickly got to work, concentrating on keeping the sutures straight as to cause minimal scarring.

Minutes later, she had finally finished the task, James's breathing finally evening out. He appeared to have passed out, succumbing to the probably excruciating pain and immense blood loss. Wrapping one last protective layer of gauze, she stood up and gathered all of the scattered, clean bandages, bottles of antiseptic, taking them to the bathroom and tossing in the garbage all of the used equipment.

Coming out, she headed to the small kitchen table overlooking the living room, taking a seat. The food she'd left there had gone cold, but all energy seemed to have evaporated and heating it up seemed like a monstrous task. Her hunger was even more pronounced than before so she took a fry, absently chewing as she looked at James. He appeared to be sleeping peacefully, pain not troubling him. He appeared so much younger than she'd previously thought, not much older than features had softened so much that it was like she was staring at a different person. It was nothing like the brutal man who'd viciously attacked her. Why did he still seem so familiar to her? Had she met him during one of her numerous assignments, thoughts of which still made her taste bile?

"Who are you?" she questioned all to herself while stuffing her mouth with another chunk of potato.

She must have been so lost inside her own mind that she did not notice the now opened, intense, eyes running up and down her body.

"I'm certainly not a good Samaritan," a husky voice responded making her choke. James was smirking at her, a playful side of his that she hadn't had the pleasure of seeing yet. The coughing further irritated her still sore neck and she rubbed at it trying to relieve the pain. "I'm sorry about that," he downcast his eyes, mischievous demeanor gone, her run-down red carped suddenly more interesting. "I wasn't myself."

He appeared to be sincere. Actually, he appeared even ashamed of his conduct so Samantha didn't hesitate. If anyone knew what it was like to commit actions you later regretted it was certainly her. And with her past, who gave her the right to judge others? "It's alright," she waved it off. "I forgive you. It's not like you actually hurt me apart from a couple of bruises. I'm tough, I already told you."

Her easy going attitude was masking the truth that loomed over them. A truth they both knew very well.

 _He could have hurt her badly. He had come very close to doing it._

"So, you hungry?" she cheekily asked and before he answered she'd grabbed the hamburger and fries and started heading his way. Extending them towards him, she seriously added. "You can have the hamburger, but we share the fries."

The man seemed awestruck, mouth gaping. That big was the shock that he accepted taking a bite off the sandwich. Should he have dared to refuse the food, Samantha would have shoved it down his throat. With the amount of blood he'd lost, what she was offering didn't even come close to cutting it. That's why she ignored the growling of her stomach and only took a couple of more fries, to maintain appearances since she was sure he wouldn't take it too kindly to know she was giving up her entire dinner for him.

"You never told me your entire name," she added after some time.

His change in disposition was instantaneous. Gone was the carefree man who was enjoying an all American calorie bomb meal and back was the guarded person who denied to let anyone even know his name. "It's best if you don't know it. In fact," he struggled to push himself upright using the couch as leverage. "I probably overstayed my welcome anyway."

"Don't be stupid," she pushed him back, something she was sure he allowed because even in his weakened state he was stronger than her physically. "You're in no condition to go anywhere right now. Forget I asked about your name, you don't have to tell it to me. I can keep calling you James and if that gets boring, I could always go back to the good Samaritan."

That elicited a presumably rare, bitter laugh out of him. "If only you knew how wrong it is to call me that," dark humor lighted his face before being extinguished by a somber look.

"Maybe you'll tell me someday." Samantha felt her heart shatter after the way he turned away from her. It was like staring at her own reflection after remembering all the things she'd done only multiplied by a thousand. Desperate to take his mind off whatever it was that was coming back to him, she tried for a joke. "I guess offering up my bedroom in the most gentlemanly of fashions is off the table, right?"

James nodded, but even after only two days of knowing him and about twenty minutes of taking that didn't involve choking, or sewing deadly wounds, the woman knew she had a snowball's chance in hell of getting him to agree to take her bed, so she allowed the discussion to end before it had even begun.

"Okay then, James," she purposefully emphasized his name. "I'm going to take a shower and crash. Help yourself if you need anything or should the need come, don't hesitate to wake me. Just don't go all crazy and come choking me at night," she warned only somewhat joking.

"I won't."

He might be damaged, dangerous, but she believed him. And with her recent history with men, the fact that she was able to trust in him so soon, allow him to sleep in the same house as she did, spoke volumes of the impression he'd made on her. Call her crazy, but she didn't think herself to be endangered by James. Perhaps her first instinct to call him the good Samaritan had been right and his violent behavior tonight had simply been an accident. After bringing him a blanket, a pillow and apologizing for not having any clothes that he could fit in, the woman finally bid him good night and prepared to go to sleep.

One thing she didn't forget to do was her routine check of the perimeter from her bedroom window. Samantha knew she was being paranoid, but _his_ promise to find her wherever she hid was real and she could not afford to get sloppy. Not when it could come at the price of her life.

Because that was what _he_ was after.

Her life.


	4. Chapter 4

Panting, Samantha woke up from the clutches of yet another nightmare. Nearly dying and being forced to perform surgery in her living room had brought back memories from her past. Memories of _him,_ of how he had destroyed her life, memories she fought to keep at bay every waking second. One glance at the clock showed that it was only five in the morning, but there was no way in hell she was going back to sleep and risked seeing his face.

Careful not to wake the peacefully sleeping man on her couch, Samantha headed for a quick shower. Hot water usually made her relax, but today it didn't seem to do the trick so she turned up the heat, scalding rivulets now cascading down her back.

Unwillingly, her eyes travelled to her stomach and stopped right below her ribs. The burn mark there had long healed, but the scar still looked the same. The jagged contour and what it represented would never change. It was disgusting and it made her sick.

Death. That's what it stood for. Deaths she'd been responsible for.

A sob escaped her lips and she had to swallow down bile. What she did could never be undone. Any good deeds would always fall short in making up for those years. Tears mixed with scorching water rolled down her face and Samantha had to support herself on the wall just to keep upright. Remembering invariably turned her into a mess. A broken mess of a woman who, once upon a time, used to bring fear to those around her. If only people could turn back time and not make stupid decisions guided by a youthful desire to make a difference.

She had made a difference, alright. Countless faces flashed before her eyes. Lives ruined with her very hands. This scar, Samantha's fingers clawed at it, this wasn't punishment enough. Sometime during those flashbacks, the woman had fallen victim to the convulsing whimpers, collapsing to the floor.

The water had long turned cold by the time she reigned over her emotions again. Well, at least as much as she was capable of these days. Drying off and avoiding the mirror until she was fully dressed, she exited the bathroom.

To her surprise, alert blue orbs were waiting for her when she opened the door. Sunlight was beginning to seep through the curtains, casting somewhat of a halo around the man's dark hair. Yesterday's clothes were still worn, but James appeared to have cleaned up a bit. Color had somewhat returned to his cheeks and no pain was visible in his movements. All in all, his recovery appeared to have exceeded her expectations.

"I'm sorry if I woke you up. I didn't mean to," she apologized, her voice scratchy from all of the crying.

"It's alright. I don't sleep much anyway," he shrugged it off.

 _Neither do I, at least not without alcohol,_ she nearly replied. Biting her tongue instead, she nodded, but James kept his gaze trained on her. "Is everything alright?"

Was that concern laced in his voice? Panic flared in Samantha's mind. Had he heard her pitiful fit of crying in the bathroom? Nerves gripped her and all she could do was turn her head away, composing herself and fighting to keep _his_ maniacal laugh away. "Would you like some breakfast?" exhaling shakily, she continued to avoid him, hoping he would take a hint and drop it.

Moments passed in which he seemed to ponder what to do before he graciously accepted her offer and quietly followed her to the kitchen.

Avoiding the elephant in the room, Samantha opened the fridge and cupboards and inspected them for any traces of food. "So, all I have is some orange juice, cereal, yogurt and milk," she smelled the carton's content to make sure it wasn't expired and scrunched her nose at the wretched odor. "Forget the milk," she threw it in the garbage. "How about some coffee or tea?"

"Tea would be nice, thank you," Bucky politely replied.

Surprised, the woman looked at him. She would have pegged him for a coffee kind of guy, but lately, she'd been proven to be a terrible judge of character so making assumptions was probably wrong of her. Fixing them both a cup of Earl Grey and some yogurt with cereal, she sat down at the table next to James. Neither one of them said anything at first, both deeply interested in their poor breakfast before Samantha, never one to stand for silence, broke it.

"How are you feeling?"

Irises the color of steel turned her way. "Much better," something resembling gratitude covered his face.

"That's good," Samantha who hadn't interacted with a human being aside from the bookstore in months clumsily offered. "I can check the wound again later. See if it's not infected."

"Thank you, but that won't be necessary."

With that one polite sentence he had effectively cut her off. Although she agreed with his assessment, patronizing attitudes had always annoyed her. That is precisely why she brought up the next topic, even though she had guessed he wasn't too keen on discussing it. "By the way, there's something I've been meaning to ask you."

Seeing as he did not outwardly protest gave the woman the confidence needed to proceed. "What happened last night? When I left you were fine." That reminded her of strong, deadly hands tightly wrapped around her neck and her own palms unwillingly went up to her throat.

Bucky followed her movements, jaw clenching and knuckles turned white around the table when he spotted dark purple bruises marring her skin. They would be a pain in the ass to cover and, of course, it had to be a sunny day in New York where a turtle neck would mean asphyxiation. Speaking of, why was he still wearing a jacket inside her apartment?

"Well, are you going to answer me? What are you staring at so intently?" confused, Samantha followed his pupils' direction. "Oh," she quickly realized. "I told you it is fine. Don't worry about the bruises. In fact, if you want to make it up to me, even though I already forgave last night, you can tell me what you were doing last night." It wasn't right to squeeze information out of him by this kind of emotional blackmail, but she justified it by telling herself she needed to know who was residing in her house.

With super speed, James focused on the empty bowl of cereal. A debate seemed to be raging inside his mind. Giving him the space she assumed was needed; Samantha grabbed the dishes and headed for the kitchen sink. If he wanted to, he would tell her. If not, well, she wasn't one to judge others for keeping secrets. Too many of her own weighed heavily on her heart. While washing and rinsing the cheap utensils, no answer came from James.

"There are people after me. Bad people. The worst kind." He softly said just as Samantha was sure an answer wouldn't be provided. Confident that he wouldn't take kindly to any kind of reassuring attitude, she kept her back to him and went on with her task. Apparently, her choice was the right one because Bucky continued. "They were following you, most likely to get to me."

Unintentionally, fear gripped her. Somebody had been following her? Had _he_ found her already? Pushing those irrational thoughts away, Samantha focused on what James was really saying. Those people had been after him, not her. _Most likely_ echoed in her mind. "Did- did you kill them?" hesitantly she questioned.

The creases around his eyes. Jaw tightly shut. The thin line his lips formed.

They all screamed his response.

"I see."

Samantha knew she should feel more than relief, a sense of right and wrong and the notion of when the blurred line between them was crossed, but she couldn't. Because he had eliminated a threat she wasn't sure she could have dealt with. After all, she didn't do that anymore. Of course, he had committed murder, but wouldn't they have done the same to her? Those deaths had prevented her own and the only feelings that came were relief and gratitude.

"I'm sorry you got dragged into all of this, Samantha. I apologize that you had to catch a glimpse of my world."

If only you knew, Samantha contemplated, if only you knew that I have been a part of this world long before you showed up.

"It's not your fault, James. Thank you for not letting them come after me. I know you had no obligation to save me, but then, neither did you have to rescue that girl in the alley. My nickname does fit after all," she smirked. "You are the good Samaritan."

The petty joke alleviated somewhat the gloomy mood in the cramped kitchen. Not willing to let James dampen their spirits again by bringing up the moral compass she was now convinced still lacked, she diverted the conversation in a more positive direction. "I have to go to work in an hour or so, but you are free to stay here. "

Sure, she had meant to be optimistic and enhance his disposition, but offering him her apartment was a tad unexpected. Strangely, after a few seconds on intense analyzing, the conclusion was the she really didn't mind him being there.

"I'm not sure that's such a good idea."

He seemed to nonverbally state that he wasn't a safe option. Sure, he screamed danger, but he'd killed for her. The least she could do was give him a roof over his head. "You're hurt. Because of me. Please, it would make me feel so much better if you stayed here until you recuperated." Tentatively her small hand rested on his shoulder and squeezed lightly.

Wide brown doe-like eyes shined with concern over him. So much like Steve. He couldn't say no to them. He couldn't bear disappointing them once more. It would be like hurting his best friend all over again. Moreover, for the second time in his life since being captured, somebody was treating like a person. Sure, there had been hesitation, but no fear even after what he'd done to her. The only thing the woman emanated was genuine concern and that made up his mind. "I'll stay," he finally voiced his approval.

The woman practically jumped up in happiness after hearing him. For a moment there, Bucky almost believed she would hug him. Thank God that sense seemed to enter her system because she merely flashed him a smile a hurried to get ready for work.

But would he have genuinely resented Samantha's hug? The answer frightened Bucky Barnes because he couldn't afford to make friends. His life could never be graced by friendship or love again. No, those saving graces were reserved for heroes. Only they got to ride off into the sunset on a white horse and enjoy their happy endings.

And he had turned into the villain a long time ago.

* * *

Samantha beamed at her last customer for the day. A giddiness she hadn't experienced in months was guiding her every move. Finally there was someone to talk to at the end of the day. Someone who wouldn't look at her with disappointment, hate or disgust. With a bounce in her steps, Samantha made her way to a cheap clothes shop and picked a pair of jeans and a few t-shirts for the man residing in her apartment, hoping that she would get the right size. Then, surprising herself once more, headed into the supermarket and bought more food than it had ever graced her fridge, some beer and two bottles of wine.

By the time she was done, bags hanged heavily from both hands as she headed home. The door to the building was still wide open, but that didn't bother her this much today. No, another human being's company brightened her cloudy, miserable life. Not being alone allowed for the demons of the past to stay hidden, in that dark corner of her mind only reserved for _him_ and this was one day that she refused to let _him_ ruin.

"I'm home," she announced as she opened the door and flung the bags on the kitchen table.

Moments passed in silence and Samantha suddenly felt like a fool. Of course he would leave the first chance he got. Why would he wish to stay with the crazy stranger who has a fit of crying at five in the morning in her own bathroom?

"Damn it, Samantha, you never learn, do you?" Angrily she started to unpack the two frozen pizzas, tossing them in the freezer.

"What did the poor food ever do to you?"

The sound of the husky voice she knew too well by now stopped her in her tracks and left her mouth wide open in shock. James was staring at her, teasing smirk of his face, holding her copy of _Crime and Punishment._

Cheeks burning, she ignored his picking on her, grabbed two of the bags and tossed them at him. Inhuman reflexes ensured that he swiftly caught them with his metal hand. Curiosity danced in his eyes "I bought you some clothes," she answered his unspoken question sulkily ignoring his as much as possible. "I hope they fit."

Was that a laugh he huffed before resting the tattered book on the counter and sliding past her to the bathroom to change? The rage she'd felt had now given way to embarrassment. Hopefully, he hadn't connected the dots and realized that the reason behind her anger was his presumed absence. Though, with her luck, that was improbable at best.

Taking out one of the abused pepperoni pizzas out and tossing it in the oven, she was hit with another dilemma. Such a menial one, that she'd forgotten the last time she had been in this position. Probably back when she had been a teenager and helped her aunt set the table. She had bought beer and both white and red wine and for the first time since renting this apartment, alcohol had barely any room left in her fridge. What would James want to drink with pizza and would he want it chilled?

Grabbing both bottles of wine for the man to inspect, Samantha knocked on the bathroom door. A muffled "Come in," prompted her to enter. James lied in the middle of the room facing the mirror. A new pair of faded blue jeans hung loosely on his hips and a simple black t-shirt revealed taut muscles. He looked so much better now and a compliment rested on the tip of her tongue.

Until her eyes caught sight of his metal arm. Sure, she knew of its existence, but had never seen it before. The advanced technology was unmistakable and even if she wished to delude herself, the red star painted where his shoulder blade should have been left no room for doubt.

Gasping and taking a step back, the wine bottles tumbled from her hands, shattering into millions of shards of glass, crimson liquid mixing with pale yellow one, creating a rose hue on the grey marble. It resembled diluted blood. Like the one that had slowly dripped out of her as _he_ punished her.

"I…" no words came and Samantha fled the room ignoring the confused cry that followed her.

Warm tears were now leaving their salty tracks on her face as a panic attack was rearing its ugly head and she fought valiantly with deep breaths to stop it. She had never been officially introduced, but _he_ had told her enough stories to recognize that mark anywhere.

It belonged to Bucky Barnes known as the Winter Soldier.

James was the Winter Soldier.

She had welcomed him into her house even after swearing not to do that ever again. How could she have been so stupid? Just as well, she could have welcomed _him_ into the house.

Unwillingly, her hand clutched the scar on her abdomen.

HYDRA. Her good Samaritan was HYDRA.

The very people that she'd been running away from.

* * *

 _A/N: First of all, I would like to think everyone who added this story to their favourite/follow list. You have no idea how much this means to me. Now, I really hope that you liked this chapter because I struggled really hard to keep Bucky in character during his interaction with Samantha and I hope I managed it, at least a bit. I promise the action will pick up, starting with the next chapter and you will get some answers as to what Samantha's past is ;) If you did enjoy it and have the time for it, please leave me a review because they motivate me to write faster and better and even if you didn't like it, tell me why. Any kind of feedback is apreciated ;)_


	5. Chapter 5

Hurried steps followed Samantha as a confused Bucky caught up to the woman. One second she'd been fine, dare he say happy to see him and, the next, hysterical crying overwhelmed her. "What's wrong?" Nothing but silence followed so he repeated the question all the while advancing towards the woman who weakly put up a trembling hand in the air.

"Stop, please, just stop. Don't come any closer." The brokenness behind her tone immediately halted his movements. Samantha choked back a sob; tear stricken eyes fighting a war just to be able to look at him. Soft brown orbs flickered to the left, where her copy of _Crime and Punishment_ had been tossed aside. How fitting, irony screamed at her, the time for her punishment seemed to have finally come.

Retribution in the form of the Winter Soldier for all of the abhorrent past deeds.

Even through blurred vision, she was helplessly drawn to look at the man standing in front of her. The _HYDRA_ operative in her living room. Only the thought of his reputation, his numerous killings made her shudder. Had _he_ sent him to capture her? If so she had fallen straight into the trap.

Just as usual, she had ended up being played.

Soundlessly, Bucky watched the kind woman who had welcomed him into her house fighting valiantly to regain control. Thin arms wrapped around her torso, clawing at some invisible threat right below her ribs.

This- woe, pain- was what he brought to those around him. Why he had to stay away from good people. Because ruining them was not something he wished to continue doing. Not as he had done with Steve.

"You're the Winter Soldier. You're H-" she choked back on a sob and forced the bitter word out. "HYDRA."

So she knew. Of course, reason argued, he had graced every news headline. There was no way to deny it and, frankly, he was tired of hiding in the shadows. His secret had to come to light eventually.

"Yes, I am the Winter Soldier."

Samantha's breath stopped at his admission. Words came to mind, questions about why he hadn't finished the job sooner because, after all, she had allowed him to sleep in the same house as her. Her guard had never been lower around a stranger since _him_. In spite of the tornado wrecking her brain, nothing came out.

"But I am not HYDRA. Not anymore."

Air was knocked out of her lungs at his confession. Gasping, wide caramel irises turned to genuine ocean ones. "Wh-what?" was all she could rasp out.

"I don't work for HYDRA." Palms raised in the air in a show of peace. "I am not their blood hound anymore. I escaped."

Hatred was clear in each word spat out even through his attempts to project an air of fake indifference. She had seen that expression before, on people who had suffered horribly and who still did. "I can explain some of what you have heard about me." After colliding with yet another moment of silence he continued:

"I see. I'll go then. Thank you for everything, Samantha."

A sudden fear overwhelmed her, confusing her even more. Was it because of him being the Winter Soldier? Or was it because he was leaving? The second option seemed even more terrifying for some reason.

He was at the door when a semblance of coherence seemed to return to Samantha. "Wait!" he stopped, inching his head a tad in her direction, his movements slow and deliberate, as to not startle her. "I'd like to hear that explanation."

Gathering her wits, at least what was left of them, Samantha sat on the couch and motioned for him to do the same. After a brief moment of hesitation, the man sat on the other edge of the plush sofa, keeping close to the door. Maintaining the escape route easily accessible. And granting her some very needed space. Making her feel safe.

Avoiding her, choosing to focus on a spot in the ceiling where paint had come off, he started to tell her his story. Partly, it was familiar to her, how he had fought in the war alongside Captain America. But she had only heard pieces of it. Even now, she could wage her life that her ears were only hearing half-truths meant to soften the blow. Make the past seem less painful for him.

"I fell down that bridge and when I woke up," his head turned away from her, each sentence clearly taking its toll on him. Just as she prepared to reassure him and to prevent anything else from escaping his lips, his voice stopped her. "When I woke up, I wasn't myself. Strapped to a stretcher and forced to endure experiments meant to create the perfect war machine," gesturing to his metal hand. "This was only the beginning."

Samantha couldn't look away from him. Anguish emanated from every pore of his being. It was hard to even hear what James had gone through and she could not even begin to imagine how it must feel to relive those moments.

"What they did to my head," he choked on his words. "The worst part was losing my free will. Losing the ability to say no. Becoming their puppet."

By now, his torment was palpable. Warm liquid had gathered in her eyes and she avoided blinking to keep it from spilling. "James, I…"

"Bucky," he interrupted her. "Call me Bucky. I just want to be Bucky Barnes again. Too bad we can't go back in time, right?"

The desperation and longing with which the words were spoken were breaking her heart. Seeing him in such a state abolished any previous fears. "Bucky," she bit hard on her bottom lip, drawing blood just so the tears would not fall, but all efforts were useless and a whimper was let loose.

Turning his face towards her, bafflement replaced sadness. "Samantha, don't! Don't you cry for me! I'm not worth it." But her mind refused to respond and an even stronger wail evaded her pursed lips. "I'm not worth it. Do you understand? I'm not," he emphasized the last word.

"But you are. Even if you haven't realized it yet."

Both of their thumbs went to wipe a lone salty droplet and touched midway, on her cheek. Momentarily, they stopped and stared at each other. Inhaling deeply, gathering courage, Samantha grabbed hold of his hand.

"You are worthy of my tears and so much more, Bucky."

Down casting his eyes, he seemed to silently disagree. "You don't know the true extent of what I've done. The people I've killed. The families I've torn apart."

Squeezing even harder, the woman refused to let him win this. "You saved that woman in that alley. You saved me at the risk of your own life. Anyone capable of selfless acts is capable of being saved."

"I'm not, Samantha. I'm a monster who has killed hundreds of people. Saving- that's impossible for me," he weakly attempted to pull his hand away, but the woman refused to let him.

"What you did, it wasn't your fault. Redemption is possible for people like you. I _have_ to believe that." _Because we are more alike than you could ever imagine,_ she wanted to let out in the light her own demons, but one breakdown was enough for the night.

Her secrets had to stay in the shadows for now. Besides, she genuinely had no idea of how Bucky would react upon hearing of her past. He would most likely reject her, like everyone else had and with good reason.

"Steve seems to agree with you," he contemplated. "No matter what I do, he always tries to see the good in me, pull me back towards the light. I've hurt him, you know?" a bitter laugh filled the room. "He would've let me kill him before fighting me. He's my friend, or so he claims."

"Then why haven't you tried reaching out to him?"

"I have dozens of HYDRA agents trying to find me every single day. Steve's," admiration laced his eyes. "He's Captain America, the first avenger trying to save the world. The last thing he needs is a damaged former killer weighing him down. Because believe me, he doesn't know when to give up. Should he find me, the crusade he would start would keep him from better, more important matters."

Wanting to protect those dear to you, Samantha could understand it. But doing it at the cost of your own sanity, as Bucky had chosen to do, showed character. And not the HYDRA kind.

"I bet that Steve would consider you just as important."

Her petulant remark seemed to have struck a nerve. "You think I don't know that?" his voice close to yelling. "But I'm HYDRA- the scum of the Earth, criminals who have committed the most heinous acts one could imagine. I don't deserve him! He shouldn't have to risk his life for somebody like me."

Samantha recoiled at the hatred boiling beneath his motionless body. "You must really hate them, HYDRA agents?" It was like a knife tearing through her flesh, on its way to her heart, ripping through layers of tissue on its quest.

"I do. I wish I could kill them all and rid Earth of their malignant presence. Unleash the Winter Soldier upon his creators."

And the knife finally found its destination. It embedded itself deep into the life-pumping muscle. One sentence had effectively shredded her heart. Burying it all in the confines of her mind, along with her most painful memories, Samantha forced a smile and tried to blink away the forming tears. "Someday perhaps your wish will come true."

Unable to keep the veil around much longer, she excused herself and mumbled something about cleaning the mess in the bathroom. Truthfully, she just had to get away. There was something about Bucky that drew her in, mesmerized her like only _he_ could in the past. Somehow, she felt like he might share these feelings especially after the last minutes- he didn't seem like the type to open up easily. What he'd done showed great trust and she hated herself for not being able to reciprocate.

Lies were not a solution, she knew all too well, but she also realized that the moment he knew the truth he would despise her forever.

Her hand reached for her scar- _his_ parting gift. _He_ continued to haunt her even after being long gone. Moments like these, she wished she had the strength to just grab something sharp and cut it out. Precisely then, her gaze landed on one of the bigger shards of broken glass from the wine bottles. It appeared sharp enough to do the job.

Just as she was preparing to lift the blouse, a voice interrupted. "Hey, should I reheat the…what are you doing with that?"

The sudden appearance scared her enough for her to clench a fist tightly around the jagged glass. He could never see her scar, nor hear the reasons behind it. Not if she didn't want him to hate her. Like everyone else did.

Pain started to radiate from her right hand and Samantha turned to see why. Without wanting to, her lips allowed a wince to escape at the sight before her. It wasn't the pain. No, she was used to it. Seeing blood seep down from an open wound, it sent her back to the past.

With fast, inhumane speed, Bucky rushed to her cabinet where her first aid kit rested. His precise movements surprised her for a brief moment. In hindsight though, it seemed obvious that he would have observed her every move and know exactly where everything was in her apartment.

"Here," he grabbed her hand with incredible tenderness. Never would she have pegged him capable of such thing. Saving the warning, he pulled the shard out with one swift tug. Blood gushed out, a white bandage immediately pressed against it.

The metallic smell of blood sent her back in time.

To crammed medical bays.

To improvised surgeries.

To _him_ curing her injuries.

Only to be the one to cause even worse ones in mere months. _He_ had left wounds that still bled deeply today. Wounds that she was convinced would never heal entirely.

Unwillingly, the flashbacks caused her fist to tighten in anger. Uncharacteristically long nails were digging into the deep cup. Samantha welcomed the physical pain. It was immensely preferable over the one _he_ produced.

Soft fingers tried to pry open her clenched hand. "Let me help you, Samantha. I promise I won't hurt you."

That pulled her out of her memories. He thought she was worried he would hurt her? It hadn't even crossed her mind. Maybe it should have, but it hadn't because in spite of common sense, she still believed in his goodness.

A part of her knew that Bucky Barnes, the Winter Soldier, would not hurt her.

At least not unless he found out the truth.

"It's not that," the woman reassured. "My mind went to a dark place. My past." Opening her fingers, she forced a smile hoping it appeared genuine and stopped further questioning.

"Not a very nice place to lose yourself into. Trust me, I know." He reciprocated her action. "Want to talk about it?"

"Someday, perhaps."

Bucky didn't dwell on the subject or asked anything else. It made her respect him even more. Before long, he was done and her hand was wrapped in heavy bandages. Still, he didn't let go of her hand. Instead, he focused his ocean eyes on her. It was like seeing herself reflected in storm wrecked dark water. Both wanted to say more, but neither dared. Unspoken feelings crackled in the air, like fire depriving them of much needed oxygen. None looked away. He trusted her and that much was clear.

"I…" he was interrupted by a loud banging on her door. It was late at night, nearly midnight. "Are you expecting anyone?"

Samantha shook her head unable to form proper words. Bucky's demeanor change immediately. Gone was the friendly man she'd allowed into her house even after today's shocking revelation. The one she trusted entirely. He had been replaced by the Winter Soldier.

HYDRA.

Neither one of them said it, but it weighed heavily on both of their minds.

"Stay here. I'll go check it out."

His voice left no room for arguing and he immediately headed out of the room.

 _He_ had returned for her. After months, he'd finally found her and now Bucky would pay for her mistakes as well. Her eyes rested on the small window that led to the fire escape.

A way out.

She could take it. It guaranteed safety. Too bad she had never been the kind to hide behind others and wait for them to fix her problems. No, she would not allow Bucky to be captured. Not if she could do anything to help it. He would not become HYDRA's puppet again while she breathed. Especially not because he was protecting her.

The sound of the door opening and Bucky asking for the person's name made up her mind. Exiting the bathroom, she realized that no sound of battle made it through to her. If it had truly been HYDRA agents, by now a battle would be raging on. Gaining courage, she advanced and could slowly make out the silhouette of the intruder.

A woman. That was her first assessment.

"I asked you who you are," Bucky's voice was tight with barely restrained anger.

"And I told you to move out of my way. I'm looking for Samantha."

That voice. She knew that voice.

Taking advantage of a split second distraction on Bucky's behalf, the intruder pushed past him and stumbled into the apartment.

Long dirty blonde hair. Piercing green eyes. Samantha had to grab the wall for support because her knees started to literally tremble under her weight.

Her world swayed and had it not been for a hand around her waist, supporting her, she would have collapsed to the floor.

The woman took another look at the lithe figure in the hallway. It was like seeing a ghost.

Matted locks, congealed blood forming clumps in it. Lifeless eyes staring straight through her.

"That's the welcome I get?" the blonde's scathing tone drew her eyes to her. "Seriously, Samantha, I should be the one freezing up if we take into consideration the last time we saw each other and who you are."

"Laura," she rasped out, feet still failing her as she struggled to push back those bloody images. It was Laura in her house, not her sister, she kept repeating herself. "What are you doing here?"

"Trust me, I don't want to be here anymore than you do, Samantha."

There she went again. Long gone was Sam, her friend. No, all that remained for Laura was Samantha, the one whom she'd sworn she would never come near again.

" _You bring death to those around you. I hate you! I don't ever want you to come near me again."_

Those words echoed just as strongly as a few months ago. Steeling herself, she strengthened her spine and stood up on her own. Immediately she missed Bucky's warmth against her skin.

"I need your help," Laura finally admitted. "I need you to get your _friends_ off my back." That word was spat out with such disgust that she knew exactly what Laura was referring to.

"Samantha, what's going on? Who is this woman?" Bucky was on edge and that seemed understandable. For a person on the run, everything new and unexpected was seen as potentially dangerous. Samantha understood that perfectly.

Still, she didn't want to answer that question. Laura was her past. Everything she had loved and destroyed.

Laura was the past that she was so terrified to reveal to Bucky. The past that had found a way to surface towards the light. And probably draw her to the darkness again.

It seemed like tonight all secrets came out of the shadows, after all.

* * *

A/N Sorry that it took so long for me to get out the next chapter, but I had final exams to take care of. First of all, I want to give a huge thank you to eveyone who reviewed the story and who added it to a favourite or follow list. I really hope you liked this chapter. If you have the time, please let me know what you thought of it and the story so far in a review.


	6. Chapter 6

_3 Years Ago_

The wide campus of Stanford University lay before Samantha, greeting her with open arms for her second year. Just as she'd dreamed, her grades were above average and she was well on her way to completing her Law degree at the top of her class. Soon, she would be a prosecutor. A fair one who would always ensure justice was served.

Making a difference and helping those in need had been her deepest desire ever since she could remember and, now, she was so close. It was within reach and it depended on her to touch it and never let go. Nothing could deter her. Or so she had thought at the time.

"Ms. Grey," a strong voice spoke.

The woman turned around and came face to face with a menacing looking man. It was safe to say that he fit the cliché of tall, dark and handsome.

"Yes, how can I help you?"

The man did not answer immediately, his scrutinizing gaze running up and down her body numerous times. For some unknown reason, his presence made her nervous, a feat not easily accomplished by many. "Excuse me, but I'm going to be late for class. What can I do for you?" she questioned again, growing impatient and, at the same time, not wanting him to see how uncomfortable she really was.

"Of course," he snapped out of his weird demeanor. "I was hoping we could talk. My name is Brock Rumlow." A hand reached inside his coat and pulled out a business card of sorts. "Here," he extended it to her. "We have a unique work opportunity for you. There's an address written on the back. If you're willing to hear me out, meet me there at 9."

Samantha's eyes widened at the sight of the capital letters printed on the small piece of paper. A part of her screamed that there was something wrong with this entire situation, but Brock Rumlow had effectively rendered her speechless. Mumbling something about not being late for her first class this year, the woman bid the man a quick farewell.

"At least think about it, Samantha. It's a chance that comes once in a lifetime," he yelled after her, but she ignored him completely, instead choosing to increase her pace.

Picking a seat at the back, the only thing that Samantha could focus on was the card Brock Rumlow had given to her.

CIA was engraved in bold, beautiful letters. Joining said agency had been a childhood fantasy that she'd never really outgrown. Despite that, something about Rumlow made her anxious. Perhaps she was only intimidated by his good looks and dangerous job, she tried to rationalize.

By the time class was over, her mind was made up and there was no way to change it.

That's precisely why, at 9 o'clock sharp, she was entering the restaurant Brock Rumlow had specified. It was a quaint, Italian bistro that was empty save from 2 joined tables occupied by a big, loud family. The waiter led her to a small, isolated table at the back where the man from university was waiting.

Dressed in a crisp, black suit, two buttons of his shirt unbuttoned, he appeared more approachable, but just as quickly witted.

"Ms. Grey. I'm happy you chose to come after all," and surprising Samantha, he stood up, pulling the chair for her like a true gentleman. The minute smile he flashed her helped in dissipating some of her weariness, most of it, actually.

"Call me Samantha, please. Ms. Grey makes me feel old and awkward. "

"Then you can call me Brock, if you'd like."

A waiter interrupted them to take their order and when he left, Samantha could safely say that Brock no longer alarmed her. He seemed like an ordinary man such as those she'd previously dined with. None of them though had managed to captivate her like Brock Rumlow. All of them had played by her rules by the end of the night.

"So," Samantha boldly began, confidence restored. "Tell me more about this so called job opportunity you have for me."

"You cut right down to the chase, don't you, Samantha?"

"I'm a direct person, when I want something I say it. I appreciate others who do the same."

"Of course, as do I. More than you could ever imagine."

"Well, if you succeed in convincing me, maybe I will," she threw back to him.

Was Samantha imagining it or were they subtly flirting with each other? No, she quickly dismissed that possibility. This serious man did not appear to be the kind to attempt to seduce her on their first meeting. Or was he?

"Maybe," he paused briefly. "Anyway, as you read on the card, I work for the CIA. In fact, I am in charge of recruiting people to form a special task force."

"A special task force? To do what exactly?"

Judging by his smirk, Brock seemed to approve of her innate curiosity and of her boldness to interrupt him. "Deal with the most dangerous people in the world, those that normal persons cannot find out about or terror would spread worldwide. We want to train new recruits, transform them into the best agents the CIA has ever had."

This glossy picture of glory was meant to lure her in, but Samantha had always been good at reading between the lines. This ability was part of the reason why she had been appreciated by her professors. "You want to turn us into some kind of killing machines," she took a gulp out of her wine. "I'm sorry, but I'm not interested in murdering people."

Just as she was flinging her phone and wallet inside her purse, Brock threw a manila folder on the table, halting her movements. "Open it," he prompted. "It might make you reconsider."

Still, the woman remained motionless, staring into his onyx eyes as if daring him to change her mind. Sighing at her blunt refusal to obey, he chose to do the deed himself. What he took out made Samantha nauseous.

About a dozen photos of horribly disfigured people, even children greeted her. Severed limbs, burnt faces and organs sticking out were just some of the atrocities laid before her. Entire villages bombed and people crawling on the ground, bloodied, their eyes begging for help. The last picture was of a room, some sort of warehouse, with cages in which girls of all ages were naked and chained to their beds. It looked as if all life had been sucked out of them.

"What…" she choked on her words.

"This is only the tip of the iceberg, Samantha. There are hundreds of criminals doing way worse than this as we speak. If you join us, you could help stop this, do so much good for those in need."

Those images had shaken her core, made her blood run cold. Regardless of how much she hated the prospect of hurting others, allowing such monstrous actions to go on went against her deeply ingrained beliefs. Samantha Grey just wasn't built to allow injustices to pass. If the only way to stop it was to kill some of those responsible then so be it. Her soul would survive the darkness if it was for a worthy cause.

"When do I start?" sheer determination stood behind her voice.

What Rumlow had shown her had left its mark on Samantha. That was why she missed the satisfied grin that took over Brock's face. Had she noticed it, perhaps things would have turned out differently.

Perhaps hundreds of innocent people wouldn't have died.

Perhaps Samantha Grey wouldn't have turned into a killer.

* * *

 _7 Months Ago_

Her target entered her apartment. The time had come. Loading her gun, checking her ankle spare and the knife she kept strapped to her thigh, Samantha prepared to move.

Her 43th assignment and not one failure stained her record. Samantha Grey was HYDRA's and Brock Rumlow's best recruit. Word had spread among other agents and she was respected. Feared, whispered a voice in the back of her head. There was only one other agent who elicited an even stronger reaction from her companions.

The Winter Soldier.

She had never met him, but had heard about his missions. About his ruthlessness. He was HYDRA's very best, helping fight against S.H.I.E.L.D's corruption and control over politicians and press. A task she was also focusing on, her work proving it every single day.

In spite of the satisfaction for doing the right thing, one of her only regrets was leaving her friends abandoned. They had asked her numerous times to hang out, but she had needed to decline almost every time. Now, they barely bothered to invite her to their birthdays and when she was forced to miss, they concluded that she forgot and simply did not care anymore.

Nothing could be further from the truth. She loved them. They had been like a family to her when her real one couldn't be bothered with her problems.

The work she was putting in was to make the world a better place. One not haunted by violence and led by a select few. One in which good people could triumph.

Conviction renewed, she climbed the fire escape and swiftly got inside her target's home. The room, apparently a bedroom, was shrouded in darkness, no sign of any human presence. Checking the adjoined bathroom, which was also empty, Samantha was ready to move on. Gingerly, cracking open the door, the first signs of life reached her ears.

A woman's carefree laugh.

Just like in training, she concentrated on that. " _Tunnel vision, Samantha_ ," had taught Brock _. "But remain connected to your surroundings so nothing can surprise you."_

Advice she always respected. Just like everything else he had ever told her. Rumlow was one of the few she trusted in life. More than trusted, if she were honest, but that aspect of their relationship was too distracting right now.

Removing the gun from its holster, silent steps led her to a small living room connected with a kitchen. Her target was within distance to ensure a quick, effortless kill- the brunette had her back to Samantha, cutting some vegetable, presumably to make dinner. It smelled quite good, better than anything she'd ever put together, but that wasn't a relevant comparison, because the agent was able to burn even water, such were her culinary skills.

"Auntie Maria, I'm hungry." Complained a child's voice, startling Samantha. No children were supposed to be here. She hadn't prepared for this. Sure, in her line of work, child casualties were unavoidable, but never in her life had she murdered one in cold blood before.

Sure enough, a young girl, no more than 5 stood up from her place on the couch, small feet leading to Samantha's mark. A steadying breath did nothing to relieve the woman's nerves. No, she would head back, wait for the child to leave or at least fall asleep and then complete her assignment.

Unfortunately, everything seemed to go against her because she forgot about the small table at her back and knocked over some sort of hideous, interior decoration vase. The noise of its shattering equaled a spotlight landing on her.

Crystal blue eyes rushed in her direction. The woman gasped, fear showing for a brief second, before being replaced by false bravado prompting her to push the little girl behind her.

As if that was any protection against Samantha. Had she wanted to, both of them would have ceased breathing by now.

"What are you doing here?" Maria Hill finally ended the silence. "Who are you?"

"That's none of your business, Ms. Hill," she retorted in the cold, restrained voice reserved only for HYDRA operations. To her annoyance, her hands bore a slight quiver, her gun not entirely steady.

Damn that girl for being here, her inner self cursed.

"You're HYDRA, aren't you?" Maria Hill continued. "You came here to kill me." Samantha deigned her with no response. Seemingly, her target caught on to the HYDRA agent's hesitation, also spotting her weak spot and chose to bluff. She had nothing to lose after all. "Then do it. Will you kill my niece too? Of course you will, what a silly question. I know how you guys work, after all, you leave death in your wake, no survivors, ever."

"We?" disbelief laced the pronoun. "What about S.H.I.E.L.D? Bombings, sex slaves, children," she meaningfully looked behind Hill. "You kill and torture them all."

"That's what they tell you now? Has Rumlow fallen this much to resort to lies and deceit to keep his operatives by his side? Doesn't he have a big enough pool of demented people such as himself to choose from?"

"What do you know about Rumlow? What are you talking about?"

"He pretended to be one of us. Until he betrayed us and everything we stood for. He's a killer. What you're blaming me for- innocents dead, murdered- that's HYDRA's and your doing. We're the ones protecting the weak and helpless upon which you prey on."

"No, that's not true," she weakly protested. It couldn't be true, could it?

"Yes, it is and deep down you know it," honesty was written all over Maria Hill's face. If this was some sort of ploy to save herself, it was a good one because she could spot no sign of treachery.

Denial rose to the surface. "Shut up! Stop lying and just shut up or I'll…" Samantha's scream was interrupted by Maria Hill's commanding voice.

"You'll what? Kill me? You can't do it or you would have done so by now."

No matter how much Samantha hated to admit it, the S.H.I.E.L.D agent was right. She couldn't do it. Not when the seed of doubt had been planted. Had she really been killing good people all along?

No, Brock wouldn't have done that to her. What they had, it went beyond the professional. Or so she had to keep repeating herself as to not go crazy. The gun trembled so much that she had to lower it. To prevent a tragedy. "You're right, I can't. Not now. But if I find out that what you said was a lie, you'd better prepare. I'll come for you and no one will be able to save you," she threatened half-heartedly, not even her sadistic, dark side- the one trained by Brock- able to come out and play.

And that wouldn't happen until she knew for sure that this woman was wicked and responsible for countless deaths. And not even then would she deliberately kill the young girl who represented everything she'd fought for.

Turning her back, leaving herself exposed for an attack she somehow doubted possible, Samantha headed towards the nearest exit- the same way she had come in when Maria Hill's voice halted her movements. "Wait! You were misguided, I can see that. Join us, help us catch Rumlow, cut off one head of the snake, do some good and all of your crimes can be forgiven."

"My crimes can never be forgiven. The people who had that right are long gone, but don't worry about Rumlow. If what you said really is true, if he is the man you claim he is, I will personally take care of him." That was an oath she would live by. Had Rumlow really deceived her in such vile manner, her ledger will have more red added to it. After all, what difference would one more name make?

Just another face to dream about at night. Another face she would never erase.

"Be careful," Maria warned. "He's not someone to trifle with. He's dangerous, cruel, and merciless."

"So am I," whispered Samantha before leaving the apartment and, with it, her first alive target.

Brock would hear her out. Right now.

Mask back in place, cold, calculated and feared Samantha called Rumlow.

"Is it done?" was his first question.

How had she missed the undertones hidden in his voice? How he always put the mission above her? Never concerned with her wellbeing, instead focused on her kills.

"Yes," she lied through gritted teeth just like he'd taught her. "I need to see you. Can you come by my old apartment?"

Since going to work for HYDRA, she left abandoned her old home- a small flat her grandparents had bought for her as a graduation present- and went to live in a HYDRA facility.

"Why? Are you hurt?" the concern seemed so fake, now that she bothered to pay attention.

"Yes," she didn't even have to lie. Pain was present in her words, it just wasn't a physical injury. "Please, I can't make it to the compound alone."

Making herself sound needy, like he enjoyed having her, was easy enough. Rumlow agreed and hung up the phone, not bothering with any other pleasantries.

How could she have been so stupid? If what Maria Hill had said was right, and she had no reason to doubt it so far, Brock had been playing her for more than 2 years. He had known exactly what buttons to push to make her fall for him. She was in love with a deranged psychopath. Angry tears fought to escape, but now was not the time for them. No, she had to make it to their rendezvous place before Rumlow and prepare for his arrival.

A long chat was long overdue between them. And one will probably not make it out alive.

* * *

A foreboding feeling that something would go wrong had been building up ever since she'd entered Hill's apartment and it had reached its climax when a knock on the door announced Rumlow's arrival. Going over her weapons for the second time, she finally let the man in.

Scrutinizing, Brock didn't waste any time in checking her for injuries, a sneer forming when none came to view. "You said you were hurt, Samantha, but I can't see any life threatening wounds."

Annoyance.

That was all that he conveyed. No an ounce of care, compassion, worry. To think she had been blind to all this.

"Because there are none," she inhaled deeply to steady her nerves.

"Then why am I here?"

Gulping, her hand reached behind her back, fingers gently touching the grip of the gun. "What is HYDRA in reality?"

Like a bird leaving its cage, there was no stopping her question now.

Anger replaced annoyance.

"What's with this question, Samantha? We went through this once, years ago."

"Then tell me what S.H.I.E.L.D is. You used to work for them, didn't you, Brock?" her hold of the gun tightened.

"Who told you that? Was it Maria Hill? Did you kill her?"

A bitter laugh escaped the woman's lips. "Yes, she opened my eyes to who you really are. What HYDRA is and what you made me into. And no, I did not kill her." Brock Rumlow didn't deign it to be of his level to respond. "How could you do this to me, to all of those poor, innocent souls you sent me to murder?"

"And what is this capital sin I committed against you? Turn you into someone people respect?" he finally countered. "I made you into a better person. One who didn't only live in a world of impossible ideals, but who fought to make them happen."

"And what am I supposed to do? Thank you? Well, in that case, thank you for turning me into a monster," she finally took out the gun. "You'll pay for what you did to me. "

Samantha was ready to fire, cleanse the world of a scum like Brock Rumlow when memories flooded.

Their first training session. The first hug. Their kisses. Giving herself entirely to this man whom she had believed in.

For the first time in two years, Samantha Grey was crying in front of somebody else.

A maniacal laugh sent shivers down her back. "Are you really going to do this? Honestly, you think you can kill me?" The dangerous glint in his eyes was not the one of someone in love. It was the look of a cornered animal who prepared to make its last stand. If she reflected, it was clear that she had been the only one to fall in this twisted relationship.

"I know I can, you taught me after all," she tried to mock him, give off the impression that she was confident and in control of the situation in spite of the crystal, salty tracks down her cheeks. "The pupil does, sometime surpass the master."

"Oh, my dear mouse, did courage and stupidity come knocking on your door today? Bad idea to let them in, believe me."

"I'm not afraid of you. Brock. Never have and never will."

'You should be."

Concentrating on reigning in her betraying emotions, she had missed his slight steps. By the time she noticed, it was too late, his hands on the gun attempting to wrench it from her hands. A struggle ensured, both desperately wrestling for the gun.

What he gained in sheer power, she compensated for with determination.

A gunshot screamed in the night. A shout of pain, hurt and vengeance.

Blood splattered all over the two.

Brock Rumlow lay bleeding on the floor, a hole straight through his stomach. "Finish it, Samantha," he challenged always trying to have the last word. And she wanted to appease him. Samantha knew that it was the right thing to do. It would save lots of lives in the long run.

Still, there was something stopping her. Love. The stupidest emotion in the world, the one she had spent all of her life running away from. Until Brock had come along. Pointing the gun straight at him, she willed herself to just press the trigger.

In the end, her heart's desires won.

Rumlow was alone, unable to walk. He would probably bleed to death anyway. Turning on her heels, Samantha prepared to leave this horrid life behind. Brock's raving laugh stopped her in her tracks.

"You're still weak. I tried and tried to make you better, but you could never abandon those stupid values," his words were erratic, pain obvious as he applied pressure on the wound. "Feigning love, that was the only way to ensure you wouldn't leave. That says it all about you. You let emotions and notions of right and wrong guide you. Me? I do what's best for me and that makes me a winner."

"You may have fooled me. You may have turned me into a killer, but I will never be like you. A winner, you say? More like insane and that's all you'll ever be, Brock. Remember this, in the end, we all get our punishment and when that day comes I wouldn't want to be in your shoes."

"And you Samantha Grey, always remember this. If I make it out alive, there will be no rock big enough to hide you from me. You will pay with blood and tears."

Threats. She was well aware of what deserting from HYDRA meant and she was ready to face it. A life on the run was better than continuing next to these murderers.

"We'll see who will pay in the end, Brock."

With that, she left, not once turning back. Leaving a life of crime behind. Abandoning her first love.

Samantha Grey had to become a shadow because HYDRA would hunt her until finding her.

And God help her if Brock made it out alive.

* * *

 _6 Months Later_

Another day passed. A day of looking over her shoulder and being too cynical to even speak to a friendly customer. Preparing to say good night to her co-workers, she couldn't help overhearing their conversation.

"How could this have happened? Such brutality against a poor family."

"I know. I've lived in this city for years, but I've never heard of anything resembling this. It's like movie stuff."

Something pulled her in to the conversation. An inexplicable force prompted her to intervene. "What are you guys talking about?"

Surprised gasps reached her ears, but Christina, the nicest girl at the restaurant responded. "A family was murdered last night. Here," she handed Samantha the newspaper.

The front page depicted the story of a man and woman in their early fifties assaulted in their house. More than fifty stab wounds, but all had missed vital organs and they had slowly bled to death. Beside the savagery of the crimes, what struck the authorities as odd was that nothing seemed to be missing from the house. The biggest question mark was a skull painted in crimson with tentacles emerging from it, like an octopus.

"It can't be," the newspaper slipped from her fingertips. But it was too much of a coincidence to ignore. Deep down, logic whispered that her assumption was correct, but her heart screamed that it can't be true. "I have to go," she swallowed the lump in her throat and broke into a desperate run, ignoring the concerned cries the other waitresses.

Her parents. Those people in the news can't have been her parents, she tried to convince herself as she sprinted to their house. But the symbol they claimed was painted on the wall had to be HYDRA. Perhaps it was just another kill, but her gut knew that not to be true. HYDRA didn't advertise its kills. No, they were sending a message.

Although her relationship with her parents hadn't been great, going downhill since she'd left school to join Brock, she would never had wished anything bad to befall them.

Not because of her. Not because of anybody.

A car nearly hit her for stopping in the middle of the street, the driver screaming obscenities, but they fell on deaf ears. Samantha was blankly staring at the familiar white picket fence house where she used to spend some summer vacations.

Yellow police tape surrounded it and she knew in that moment that they were gone. Bypassing the 'do not cross' sign, she stumbled inside. The police mustn't have had the time to clean it up because the moment she entered, the pungent smell of blood hit her. One look at the living room and she understood that was the crime scene.

Big, painted on the wall was HYDRA's logo. It dissipated all doubt. They had done this to get revenge on her. On the floor, near the small coffee table her mother had insisted to buy, were two chalk outlines.

Where her parents used to lay. Now this was all that remained.

Crumbling, Samantha touched the cold hardwood floor where her parents had been bled dry. The cruelty, only one man was capable of such a heinous act of revenge.

Brock Rumlow was still alive.

Her body heaved with sobs. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," she repeated, her chocolate eyes shedding countless tears. "He will pay. Mom, dad, I swear to you that Brock or whoever did this to you will suffer way more than you did."

Standing up, her gaze landed on a photo. She was young, had barely turned 16 and a party had been held at her parent's household. Her mother's slight smile, her father's serious face, the warmth of her grandparent's eyes, she would never see them again in real life. She saw herself too. Carefree, huge smile and happy eyes, a look that she would never have again. Now she was a beast, responsible for hundreds of deaths among which were her parents.

And then there were her best friends. The girls tightly hugging her in the photo. They had been practically inseparable since 5th grade and that's when it hit her like a thousand bricks. Brock must have seen this picture as well.

Her best friends might have turned into his next targets in this war he waged against her.

But they would not become his next victims. She would make sure of it. Contemplating which one of the three would be more open to her calls, she chose Jennifer. Taking out her prepaid phone, she dialed the number she still knew by heart.

Her best friend's voice finally came through, but it was only the sound of voicemail prompting her to leave a message. "Jennifer, it's Samantha. I know you probably don't want to speak to me, but please, call me. It's very important."

Time seemed to have reached a standstill while she waited for Jennifer's call. Even staying in this house was slowly sucking the life out of her, her orbs constantly returning to those white, lifeless outlines.

Unable to wait any longer, she called Lauren hoping to also reach her sister this way.

"Hello," Lauren did answer right before she was preparing to hang up.

The shock of hearing her friend's voice knocked the air out of her lungs and let her speechless. "Hello, who is this?" continued Lauren. "If you don't say anything I'm going to hang up."

"No, don't," Samantha quickly jumped. "It's me, Lauren."

"Samantha?" disbelief obvious in her voice.

"Yes, is Laura with you? I really need to speak with you and I can't do it on the phone."

"No, I'm here with Jennifer. Do you want us to meet? I can try calling Laura, but she's caught an internship at a cyber-security firm and you can almost never reach her these days. Kind of like what happened to you."

The reproach wasn't missed by Samantha, but she chose to ignore it momentarily. With their lives on the line, petty anger lost its importance. "Please, it's very important that you meet with me. I wouldn't insist if it wasn't. Let Laura work," she assumed that she was safe enough at the office of that firm. "But please meet me in two hours at the place where we first became friends."

"At the place where…" Lauren repeated before understanding. "Samantha, what's with all the secrecy?"

"Please, just meet me. I'll explain it all then." She didn't want to say too much on the line because there was the risk of somebody taping their phone. The time was needed for Samantha to do some arrangements for her friends. After Lauren reluctantly agreed and ended the call, Samantha jumped back into action.

Even though the risk of meeting with Brock was present, Samantha was willing to risk her life in order to save her best friends. That was the only incentive needed to go to the bank where she'd deposited all of the money HYDRA had paid her. Not one cent had been used. Deep inside she'd felt them to be dirty money earned at the cost of other human lives. Maybe the way to wash death off them was to use them to preserve precious life.

After the bank, she called one of her old contacts, a man she'd met on one of her assignments and whom she'd spared. Therefore, he owed her one. Their brief conversation ended with him agreeing to have fake passwords for Elizabeth and Scarlett King and also for Ashley Harris ready by the end of the day.

One more phone call and she'd successfully bought an apartment in Bucharest, the capital of Romania, a small country in which HYDRA wouldn't dream of searching. Her money resources nearly depleted, she bought some plane tickets. A set under the women's real names headed to Austria and one under fake names for Romania.

By the time it was over, she had to leave for the meeting with Jennifer and Lauren. Honestly, she was anxious about how they would react to the truth and meeting her again, but nothing mattered except keeping them safe.

Her old high school building came into view. The small park where the four of them would skip classes was right next to it. One perimeter sweep told her that nobody had followed so she sat on a bench and waited. Merely 5 minutes later, a black sedan pulled up at the entrance and two elegant blondes stepped out.

Her friends. They hadn't changed much. The biggest difference was the hardness in their features when they saw her. Warmth filled her eyes, but she restrained herself, refusing to allow it to fall.

"Thank you for coming," she solemnly greeted.

"Why did you call us here, Samantha?" Jennifer coldly asked. "I mean, we asked you over and over to meet with us, but you never came. And then, you stopped answering the phone altogether. We deserve an explanation."

"Yes, you do," she nodded. "But now is not the time. Were you followed? Did you see anything out of the ordinary?"

"What are you talking about Samantha? Have you gone insane?" her eyebrow arched.

"Jennifer, please, I'm as sane as I've ever been." Samantha defended herself although acknowledging that she must sound insane and paranoid. "You have to hear me out. There are people after me who might use you to hurt me."

Jennifer looked at her disdainfully and almost pitifully. "Lauren, let's go. It pains me to say this, but she'd gone crazy."

They weren't taking her seriously. A way to be listened to was urgently needed and she knew the perfect one. A hurtful and fresh wound that still hemorrhaged copiously. "My parents died, damn it! Someone killed them and they might come for you."

"What? Samantha, are you well? You're starting to worry me."

"No!" she yelled at the top of her lungs. "I'm not fine and I won't be until you hear me out. Stop acting like I'm a delusional stranger and listen!"

"Guys," Lauren interrupted what had turned into a screaming match and prompting two sets of angry eyes to turn in her direction. "I'm pretty sure that black SUV was also in front of my apartment this morning."

Goosebumps formed on Samantha's skin as she saw the car Lauren was pointing at. Even if she couldn't see inside, she could feel somebody watching her. "Give me the keys to your car, Lauren." Her voice left no room for complaining, both women now sacredly looking at her. "When I say, you run and get inside."

"Now!" she screamed and they all broke into the fastest sprint of their lives. She jumped into the driver's seat, Lauren taking her place on the right while Jennifer all but threw herself in the back seat.

Samantha took off, going as fast as the car would allow it, the SUV right behind her. "What's going on, Samantha?" demanded Lauren.

"I got involved with the wrong people and I betrayed them. Now they want to kill me and everyone I love. I'll explain it all better when we get to safety." She swerved the car to the left without slowing down one bit. All of the evasive driving in the world didn't help, the HYDRA car remaining glued to them. Soon, they were exiting the city, the SUV succeeding in running them off the main road. Visibility was reduced due to nightfall and, at the speed they were going at, the possibility of an accident was dangling like a sword waiting to fall on their heads and she didn't even want to think about it.

"Be careful!" screamed Jennifer from the back when she nearly crashed with a red Toyota. Thankfully, Samantha managed to avoid it by merely millimeters. Jennifer grabbed hold of her shoulder and rested her head on it. "Where did you learn to drive like this?"

Unable to help it, the former HYDRA agent broke into a laugh. She'd missed her friends so much. Trust was slowly building again. "You don't want to know, believe me," she turned to wink at the blonde.

One second. That's how much she took her eyes off the road for. That's all it took.

Another black SUV came out of nowhere, cutting them off. Immediately, the brunette hit the brakes, but the velocity was too great, making it was impossible to prevent the impact.

A horrific sound deafened Samantha as she was jerked back and then thrown against the wheel. Pain erupted from her head and blackness threatened to overcome her. She could just give in, allow herself to faint, HYDRA would come and kill her and this entire cat and mouse game would be over.

God knew she deserved to die, after all.

A way out was tempting, but she remembered that she wasn't alone in the car. Lauren and Jennifer had been with her. Opening her eyes, she saw the results of the horrific accident. Both cars had been reduced to a pile of bent metal, the windshield shattered, blood in the broken glass. The throb in her temple worsened upon regaining contact with reality, but she pushed it to the back of her mind.

Turning to the right, a scream escaped her lips. Lauren was motionless, her head turned towards the window, at an unnatural angle. "Lauren, Lauren, speak to me!" she fought to get free from the seatbelt, pulling and pulling against it, to no avail. It was stuck. Slowly turning the blonde's head in her direction, protecting her spine to prevent further injury, what she saw terrified her more than any dangerous mission. Blood was matted in the woman's hair, half her face disfigured by shards of glass that had penetrated delicate skin.

Lauren wasn't breathing. Lifeless, glossed over eyes staring into nothing.

And she was stuck, unable to move and help her. Perform CPR, do something, anything, even though she knew it would be useless! Her friend couldn't die because of her like her parents had only yesterday. That's when she remembered:

Jennifer was in the car with them.

Ignoring the pain radiating from her head and probably some bruised or broken ribs, she jerked back to look in the backseat. It was empty. Where was Jennifer?

"You looking for your friend?" came a familiar voice, whispering in her ear through the shattered window.

"Rumlow," she growled with as much hate as she could muster. "What did you do to her?"

The same mad laugh. "Me? I haven't done anything. I'd advise you, as an old friend and lover, to look outside."

"Outside?" confusion turned into understanding. It clarified why the windshield had blood around the edges. Sure enough, about 50 meters from the car was a body. Its limbs were bent, her skull cracked wide open on the concrete and a pool of crimson had already formed beneath her. She'd seen enough deadly wounds to recognize them.

No one could have lived through that.

"You monster," tears once again fell as she confronted Brock Rumlow. "You're insane! First my parents and now my friends…how could I not have seen this side of you?"

"This is only the beginning. I won't rest until you're all alone and no one cares about you." He said it all with an arrogant grin, but never lost his dangerous edge.

"Kill me now, just kill me now. Let's end this craziness before anymore innocents die." What she said was true. Death was a release right now. If he ended her life she would get what she deserves and nobody else had to die for Rumlow to be satisfied.

"Oh my dear, that would be too easy. I want you to beg for it. Get down on your knees and admit that your pathetic life isn't worth anything. You should never have crossed me." The sound of an ambulance and police cars approaching interrupted their reunion. "I'll see you later, Samantha."

The rescuers came and pulled her out of the car. CPR was attempted on Lauren for more than 30 minutes. Jennifer was just put inside a plastic body bag. Samantha wanted to cry at the sight, but that solved nothing. Besides, Rumlow would have surely remained near and collapsing would only give him more pleasure. The bastard got off on other's suffering. As a result, she remained catatonic, refused to give any answers to the police officer, claimed that she was alright denying the painkillers the doctors offered for her bruised ribs and requested to be taken to the same place as her best friends.

Giving Laura's phone number, she waited on a bench outside the morgue for her only friend's arrival. She came and it was like seeing Lauren. She'd forgotten how much they looked like. After all, they were twins.

Laura ignored her and entered the cold room to officially identify the bodies. When she came out, her eyes were bloodshot, but there were no tears visible. "What are you still doing here?" she coldly addressed her former best friend. "This is only your fault. Lauren called me and told me that you'd be meeting and that she had the feeling that you were in danger and needed help. Turns out, it was them who needed protection. From you," she spat out hatefully.

So that was how Rumlow had found them. She wanted to scream and curse at Lauren for being so stupid and not listening to her advice. But she wasn't here and never will be again. That thought was like a knife to her heart.

"Listen, you have to hear me out. There are people after me, dangerous people. Lauren was right about that, but all I wanted to do was help you. I've made arrangements for you, for all of you," she whispered sadly. "I'll give you an address to pick up a fake passport and I've arranged for a flight and a house for you in Bucharest. You can lay low there while I take care of things here." _Until I die,_ she bit her tongue to stop from adding.

Laura laughed in her face. "You think I'll take anything from you? They're dead because of you. I can take care of myself and make my own arrangements. I don't need or want you help."

"Laura, please, they didn't listen to me. Please, I don't want anything to happen to you." She was begging like she'd never had in her life. Honestly, she would do anything to keep her safe. "You have to believe me, the only reason why I came back in your lives was to protect you. I would gladly give my life for you. I would prefer it to have been me in that fridge. If I could I would swap places with them."

"I don't care, Samantha. You bring death to those around you. Because of you my sister is dead. I hate you! I don't ever want you to come near me again." The hatred she spoke of was obvious in her voice and it made Samantha recoil from its power.

"Laura, please, let me help you escape and you'll never hear from me again," there she went, pleading once again.

"Stay away from me," Laura warned. "I mean it." And she walked away. No, more like ran away and without guardianship, she would end up dead in a matter of hours

Hiding in the shadows and staying about 100 meters behind her friend, Samantha followed her, to ensure that she made it back safely. It was proven that she had done the right thing because a dark figure started to follow her two blocks from the hospital.

That walk. The lean figure of the man she had woken up next to for almost two years. They were unmistakable. Brock Rumlow.

He had removed a switchblade from his pocket, its glint reflecting Brock's handsome feature, and was gaining on Laura. Casting aside all worries regarding her wellbeing, she ran to him and caught his hand. "Don't," The mask of the HYDRA agent was tucked back in place. Still, it had started to crack, a fact that seemed to be visible to the cruel man in front of her.

"My poor Samantha," he smirked in her face. "You really think I would come here alone, with this knife as my only weapon? Are you really this naïve?"

This was a trap, she realized. Neither Laura nor she would make it out alive. "I have snipers trained on your friend. One wrong move and she dies." He looked and her hand and raised his eyebrow. She immediately understood the message and let go.

"I want you to beg for her life."

That was no problem. She swiftly did what he'd asked, but could see from the evil glint that it wasn't enough. "On your knees," he ordered.

For a proud woman such as herself, this was the worst humiliation one could force her to endure, but she would do anything for Laura to live, including to throw herself to the ground, at Rumlow's feel. "Please, let her live. You can do anything to me, but let her live. I won't fight you anymore."

"Anything, you say?"

Samantha nodded, aware that she was signing her death warrant. At least, Laura had escaped their view and, with the help of God or whoever was up there, she was safe inside her apartment. Moreover, if Rumlow had her, there would be no reason for him to go after Laura. No, all of his evil and spite would be concentrated on her. In that precise moment of relief and realization, a strong hit in the back of her head sent her spiraling into darkness.

When she woke up the next time, she would wish that Rumlow had killed her.

Nothing could have been worse than what he did to her for months.

He completely broke Samantha Grey.


End file.
